I Carry Your Heart with Me
by LadySophieKitty
Summary: Harry is still traumatized by everything that happened during the war and is having trouble letting go of the past. Fortunately, Hermione is there with him to give him the support and the space that he needs.
**I Carry Your Heart with Me**

Harry woke up abruptly, gasping for breath with a pounding heart. Already the images from his dream were fading, but Harry didn't need to remember the specifics in order to know what he was dreaming. It had been variations of a theme since the battle at Hogwarts six months ago, when he had finally defeated Voldemort. All he'd seen since then were the faces of the dead, both recent and from the past. He'd even started dreaming of his parents' death again, the sinister laugh of Lord Voldemort still haunting his ears. It was as if the recent trauma had brought back all of the old ones. Memories of the dead had become his constant companion.

Hermione told him that this was just his way of working through the trauma of the war, that his brain was just trying to process and sort everything, and that eventually his nightmares would dwindle into an occasional thing rather than a nightly occurrence. In a strange way Harry would miss them, the reminder of all he had lost. It was almost as if by not feeling their deaths as strongly he was failing them, just as he had failed to save them. In a way, it was the least he could do. Harry smiled sardonically, knowing that Hermione would attribute it to his "saving people problem."

Harry stretched slightly, then heard Crookshanks protest the intrusion and disturbance. He muttered an apology to him, and gave him a gentle pat on the head. While he and Crookshanks had never been very fond of each other (though not nearly as bad as Ron), they had set up a truce, and Crookshanks had even taken to sleeping with him sometimes. Hermione had been a bit smug about that. "See, he's not bad at all, are you Crookshanks? I don't know what Harry and Ron were always on about," she had crooned, scooping the cat up into her arms. Going back to addressing Harry instead of the cat ("Ah, so you do remember I exist," had been his sarcastic reply), she'd said, "He just wants to protect you from your nightmares." Harry didn't know if that was true or Hermione just continuing to give the cat more virtues than he deserved, but he was glad of the company either way. Although he would never admit it to either Hermione _or_ Crookshanks. And forget about telling Ron.

He got out of bed and put on some shoes as well as a coat over his pyjamas. He needed to get away from the stifling air of his room, and his thoughts were going in repetitive cycles that he couldn't escape. While Crookshanks had been a good distraction for a minute, he just kept replaying the losses in his head. He could use some fresh air and a nice walk to think, and it was either late enough or early enough that he didn't have to worry about getting properly dressed.

He left the house quietly, careful not to disturb the house's other occupant. Stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep them warm from the chill air, Harry started walking, with only the glow from the lanterns lighting the path of the London Borough of Islington. Harry focused on the puffs of air his breath made in the chilly atmosphere. He had grown to have a bigger appreciation of Muggle London and his anonymity, being able to walk amongst people without high expectations of who he should be. It was a contrast to how he had used to be, when he discovered the Wizarding World and the acceptance and belong he'd felt there. With the Dursleys gone from his life (and actually parting on somewhat good terms), Muggle England didn't seem so bad anymore.

Harry and Hermione had moved to 12 Grimmauld Place for a variety of reasons. For the first week or so after the war had ended he had stayed at the Burrow, but that grew to be too difficult for him. First, there were the celebrations, and while Harry didn't begrudge anyone who wanted to celebrate the defeat of Voldemort (after all, he had fully expected to be one of them!), he couldn't get past the numbness enough to muster up more than a smile. Then there was the mourning, which was difficult for Harry in another way. He knew what was expected of him as the hero, a façade of strength and enduring, of hope for the future, and just enough grieving to not be unappreciative of the sacrifice so many had given, yet not enough to drag everyone down and not look to the future. Nobody wanted a bleak outlook, and Harry was, after all, the face of the war. Now he was to be the face of the war recovery.

Even Ginny had expected that of him, though she would never outright say so. After all, she had had losses too, and wanted a future to cling to. She had grown up on stories of him being a hero, and wanted to believe the fantasy. It hadn't worked out between them, something that Harry still had pangs of regret about, but less so now. And Ron, he never liked to dwell on unpleasant stuff for too long and finally had some of the fame he had dreamed of. Instead of thinking of the loss, he had thrown himself into that. Harry understood how both of them felt, but he couldn't deal with that right now. As a result, they had been distant as of late. But then, they had always been able to mend their problems, so Harry knew that in the future they would be close again. All that was needed was time.

And so Harry had moved to Grimmauld Place. It was far enough away from everyone that he could have his peace and his own way of recovery without feeling like he was trodding on someone's hopes, yet accessible enough that should someone need him they could find him so he didn't have to feel guilt in that sense either. The only people who had access to it were people who he'd want to interact with, so he didn't have to worry about strangers disturbing him. And then, even though the house had had unpleasant memories for both him and Sirius, he thought that perhaps he could fix that and work on the place so that it would no longer be a "grim old place" as the name suggested. This would be a triumph that did not involve killing someone in order to succeed, although sometimes he was tempted to after hearing the shrieks from the portraits of how he was defiling their poor house. If he could accomplish that, perhaps he would be more at peace with Sirius' death, and his own role in that.

Originally he had been planning to live there by himself, but Hermione had moved there with him and had with her usual vigor (even though it was usually directed towards schoolwork), thrown herself into the task of helping him fix up the house. She had changed from her relentless nagging of him their sixth and seventh year that, while she had good points and it had been for his own good, hadn't helped. But then, he had changed too, and was more willing to acknowledge her good points. Their time spent alone camping had changed their relationship, it had grown more companionable with both of them knowing what the other needed more.

While they had always been close, there had been misunderstandings between them too that had finally gone away. Hermione gave him the space and the time to mourn he needed, yet was there for him too and prevented him from slipping too deep into depression. While some days they would just do housework side by side without a single word exchanged, they had developed a silence that spoke words, filled with a silent communication that had developed in that tent. At nights they would build a fire and read, both wanting to catch up on the year of classes that they had missed. Harry treasured both that and the long conversations that he had, and was grateful for Hermione's presence. He was glad she didn't hover or smother, but didn't act too distant either. If there was one thing he was grateful about during that horrid year, it was definitely the strength of his friendship with Hermione.

Speaking of Hermione, Harry slowed down his walk. "How long have you been following me?"

"Since you left. You seemed pretty preoccupied though," Hermione shrugged, taking the opportunity to catch up. Harry removed his hand from his pocket, and Hermione obligingly took it. Harry told himself that the sudden change in his heartbeat was because of the change of pace, and not because of the feel of her hand in his. Now hand-in-hand, they continued on the walk.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?" Harry was eager to start a conversation, hoping that the focus on words would change the direction his thoughts were heading in, where they'd been slowly heading in ever since Hermione had moved into Grimmauld place with him, perhaps even longer than that. It was hard to say when it started, because with Cho it had been the agony of unrequited (and then requited, which was somehow equally as painful thanks to his cluelessness when it came to relationships) love, and then the chest-monsters and dramaticness of his relationship with Ginny. This had been something much subtler, something that had been easy to mistake as the affection of friendship, something that had been building up so slow and for so long that it was hard to quite name when it had started. It felt more mature and grown up, yet more scary since his friendship with Hermione was on the line.

"No, I was up late anyway. I was reading this fascinating book about witch midwifery in the medieval period, and then I was feeling a bit nostalgic so I started reading a Jane Austen novel instead," Hermione replied. Harry rolled his eyes affectionately. Of course Hermione would be up late reading a book. It was nice to know that some things never changed. He listened with interest as she described all of her new discoveries while reading the first book, and then her memories of reading Jane Austen with her family. He made sounds to indicate he was listening every once in a while, but other than that he was content to just listen to her ramble on. In the past he would have tuned her out by now, but he had changed, and it was a welcome change from his demons.

Then suddenly, an overpowering of fondness took over him, and he couldn't take it anymore. He was tired of thinking so much all of the time, of not wanting to acknowledge the future but instead remaining haunted by the past. It wasn't that easy, of course, and it wouldn't happen just by saying or deciding that, but he could at least take a step in the right direction, take an action towards a better future. He stopped abruptly, and Hermione stopped too. "Harry?" she asked worriedly. Harry took a deep breath and then pressed his lips to hers. He didn't go beyond that, wanting to see her reaction before deepening the kiss at all. He wanted to make sure that it was something she wanted. At first she didn't respond other than a startled mrmph, but just as he was about to pull away and make some excuse, she deepened the kiss and began to run her fingers through his hair. The frigid air had made both of their lips cold at first, but as the kiss began to deepen they warmed up too. Harry felt warm and tingly from head to toe.

Finally, he broke away from the kiss, both of them panting a bit. They stared at each other, for once not knowing what to say. "Been wanting to do that for a while," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"What took you so long?" Hermione said cheekily. He laughed, the sound surprising both of them as it had been a while since he had done so as genuinely.

"Come on, let's go home," Harry said, and it was the first time he had called it such. But it was true, while a part of him still hated the place, he and Hermione had worked very hard to make it theirs. And now, more than ever, it would be theirs. There was a sense of peace in knowing that he could take something bad and make it better, and he knew that with Hermione's help he would continue to do so. There was much left unsaid, and they hadn't talked about the shift in their relationship. But there was time for all that, and as he returned home with the weight and warmth of Hermione's hand in his, he did finally feel some hope for the future.

A/N- Wow, it's been five years since I've written fic. I guess I just stopped having ideas, but the other day I was at the beach and suddenly I just started writing in my head for the first time in a long time. I have to say it felt good! All of my writing lately has been academic, so this is a nice change of pace. I hope you enjoyed! Title comes from an e.e. cummings poem with the same name.


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